


those whom the gods love

by melopragmatic



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Fluff, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, no beta we die like fundy’s marriage, techno likes his greek myths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28865466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melopragmatic/pseuds/melopragmatic
Summary: In which Techno gains and loses
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 203





	1. drink deep of battle

**Author's Note:**

> au where techno and phil have traveled together for years, and end up forming the antarctic empire. however, they eventually go their separate ways, techno making a name for himself as a warrior and phil settling down with his sons (who techno doesn’t know yet.) Oh yeah, and techno’s 15!
> 
> please note that i’m not up to date on dreamsmp and don’t know a lot about sleepy bois inc! i’m just winging it!
> 
> and yeah this is inspired by that one tumblr thread.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a visit

“What will you do when this is all over?”

Techno tilts his head lazily to the side, not taking his eyes off of the vibrant sunset. “I’m not sure,” he says in the lower, flat voice he’s been perfecting lately. People scare a lot easier when their opponent seems perfectly at ease. 

“I’ll probably find somewhere new,” says Phil, coming to stand behind him and resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Techno lets him.

The gold of the setting sun makes the snow ablaze with color, and it’s enough to keep the two in a respectful silence. Sometimes you have to just _look_ at things in the quieter moments. And they can look at it with the knowledge that it’s _theirs_ , their beautiful little world that they fought for, that they won.

“There are other worlds,” says Techno at last, standing up. “Other places to conquer.” The moment is broken, but he can hear the smile in Phil’s voice when he responds.

“And I’m sure they’ll be needing someone to put them in their place.”

Techno grins outright at that, adjusting the thick blue cloak Phil had made for him in the earlier days of the empire. 

“They’ll be needin’ someone like me,” he agrees, and begins to head down the mountain, hooves crunching against the snow.

“Blood for the Blood God!” calls Philza from the top of the mountain, and Techno smiles. 

_Blood for the Blood God indeed_ , he thinks, and doesn’t respond.

It’s almost two years before they meet again. 

Techno is older now; faster and stronger, and with a reputation for being one of the deadliest warriors the worlds have seen in decades. It’s a title he bears with pride and a sort of lazy smugness. He’s earned this, he knows. Blood is what brought him here, and blood is what will keep him on his throne, and so he enters the tournaments and competitions with all the laid-back vigour of a master at work. 

He and two other teammates go against 21 of the best and win, once. It’s a bloodbath in the best way possible and Techno relishes every drop of scarlet staining his armor, the looks of terror in his opponent’s eyes. 

“It’s him!” He hears someone scream as he breaks through the treeline and bears down on the group of four, gleaming sword in hand. _This is the life._

So when Philza sends him a message asking him to meet up, Techno isn’t exactly sure what to make of it. As he heads away from the arena, striding past a young man with dark hair and a beanie who’s cringing away from him, Techno wonders if the timing is a coincidence. 

He and Phil had made a name for themselves with the empire; mercilessly cutting through the opposition, but Techno’s undeniably got far more notoriety now than he had back then. People’s gazes _linger_ now.

Techno barely notices the gentle crunch as he lands in the snow, absently dusting his scarlet cloak off. _Easier to hide the blood that way._

Well, he decides as he begins to make his way up to the little house perched among the trees. If Phil is just doing this for— for clout or something, Techno could fight him. Fight him and win, probably. 

For some reason, the idea makes something in his stomach twist unpleasantly, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because the door is being opened by a tall man with a mildly curious expression and wild dark curls.

“Technoblade,” he says, looking more surprised than anything else.

“Wilbur,” Techno greets, tamping down his own surprise to dip his head in a gentle nod. Wilbur stares at him for a few more seconds. 

“I— We didn’t know if you would come,” he fumbles awkwardly, opening the door.

Techno hums noncommittally and steps in, trying not to get snow on the shined wooden floors. It’s...cozy in here, and hard not to stare too openly at the towering bookshelves and precarious stacks of plates and papers as he follows Wilbur further into the house.

“In here,” says Wilbur, stopping in front of an oak door with deep horizontal scratches in it, one of which almost perfectly matches up with the top of Wilbur’s head.

Techno nods in his direction again. He has to tilt his head back to look at Wilbur now, which is...irritating. Wilbur shoots him a fleeting smile, adjusting the dark blue beanie he wears and following Techno into the room, to flop down in a chair by the door.

He’s already there when they enter.

“Phil,” says Techno slowly, suddenly feeling very out of his depth at the sight of his old friend. He doesn’t look very different, aside from slightly longer hair and the dark circles forming under his eyes. His customary bucket hat looks more worn than it had that evening on the mountaintop too, a small rip near the brim. He looks older.

Philza grins crookedly at him. “Growing your hair out, I see?” he asks, twirling a strand of his own blond hair around one finger. 

Techno lets himself grin lazily, slipping his bow off his shoulder and placing it down by the door. “I figured it was too much work,” he says, sitting down in the chair next to Wilbur’s and crossing his legs. “S’not really my priority, is it?”

“Lazy,” chides Phil, but there’s a laugh in his voice, and Techno finds himself grinning in spite of himself.

“I do like it though,” says Phil, opening a cabinet and pulling out two glasses. “The pink suits you. You gonna braid it or something? You can’t just leave it at that length. It should look intentional.”

Techno snorts, toying with a lock of his hair, which is indeed a pale pink. “Sure,” he says, watching Phil’s movements as he reaches into the cabinet again. “If you can convince me, I’ll grow it out and braid it. Hell, I’ll even leave it pink if you want me to.”

Both Phil and Wilbur laugh good-naturedly, and Phil finally seems to realize that the two have company. “I thought I told you to start setting the table,” he says, setting down the glasses and coming over to ruffle Wilbur’s curls. “You remember Wilbur, right?”

Techno’s eyes narrow slightly. “I remember,” is all he says. Phil grins, reaching into the cabinet again to pull out a bottle of amber liquid, pouring into the glasses.

“He’s quite young you know,” says he says conversationally as Wilbur grumbles and readjusts the beanie. 

“Oh?” says Techno, absently watching the liquid slosh around. Phil nods, a faint smile on his face as he comes back over with the glasses in hand. 

“Yeah,” he says, grinning fondly when Wilbur leans away to avoid more hair-ruffling. “Only fifteen.”

When Phil hands one of the glasses to Techno, he just stares at it blankly for a few seconds. Technoblade is the Blood God, the slaughterer, the one feared across the worlds for his hand-to-hand skills and deadly speed.

And Technoblade is currently not of drinking age.

“Techno,” says Phil gently when he doesn’t take it, but Techno barely hears him. 

Because what had Phil said? That Wilbur was _only_ fifteen? Did Phil consider fifteen to be young?

“ _I think something’s wrong with him_ ,” says Wilbur in a loud whisper when Techno remains motionless. 

“Just thinkin’,” he says, accepting the glass from Phil’s hand. Phil smiles at him, hesitant enough that Techno knows it’s more of a question than anything.

_You okay?_

Techno dips his head in the tiniest nod and lifts his glass up.

“To the blood god,” says Wilbur. It’s quite hard to parse whether or not this is a joke, but Phil shakes his head. 

“To Techno,” he says firmly, and drinks.

Techno stares down at the drink in his hands for a few seconds. _This is definitely not legal,_ he decides, then almost laughs out loud, because he’s _Technoblade_ , for fuck’s sake. He’s fifteen, and he’s committed more war crimes than he can count, spilled more blood than he can possibly measure, and is about to drink alcohol for the first time in his life.

 _What the hell,_ thinks Techno, and drains the glass.

When he’s done coughing, Philza laughs and pours him another, and Techno accepts. It doesn’t burn _too_ badly. Besides, nobody would take him seriously if they knew he could barely drink a glass of unidentifiable alcohol.

By the fourth drink, Phil is there— when did he get there?— gently prying the glass out of his hands. 

“I think you’ve had enough, Techno,” he says, interrupting a long, rambling tangent about how gold is so nice and how it’s just so _pretty_. Techno lets his head loll to the side.

“If you say so,” he says agreeably, and Philza sighs. 

“Get him to the guest bed.” Wilbur says something in return that Techno can’t quite make out, and there are hands gripping his arm and pulling him up.

“Stop moving,” hisses Wilbur, sounding irritated as he maneuvers Techno over to the staircase.

It takes about 15 minutes of Techno tripping both himself and Wilbur before they finally make it to the second floor, and Wilbur wastes no time dragging him down a hallway and past a closed door. They’re almost at the end of the hallway when there’s a loud creaking noise from the closed door behind them. Wilbur freezes. 

“Wilbur!” calls a loud voice. Its accent curves over the syllables like Wilbur’s does, but with a slightly sharper edge; less rounded-out.

“Go back to sleep, Tommy,” says Wilbur warningly, loosening his hold on Techno and letting him slump against the wall.

The door rattles ominously, and Wilbur lets go of Techno entirely to leap back across the hallway and block the door with his body faster than Techno would have thought possible.

“Oi!” comes a very indignant voice. “Oi, Wilbur!”

“Go to sleep!” yells Wilbur, leaning his full weight against the door to keep it closed. Techno loses interest when the person in the room— Tommy, he assumes— starts shrieking that Wilbur is ‘nothing but a little bitchboy,’ and, ‘probably really a Merican,’ whatever that means.

He fumbles his way over to the room at the end of the hallway and opens the door as Wilbur’s voice begins to raise as well.

The room is small and sparsely furnished, with a desk and chair in one corner and a bed on the opposite wall, just underneath the window. Techno doesn’t bother with the light, just clumsily strips his cloak off and crawls underneath the red blanket. There’s no curtains, but the silvery moonlight streaming down onto his face is calming, in a weird sort of way, so he just rolls over. As he hears a loud thud from Tommy’s room, followed by an incoherent yell, Techno closes his eyes and lets everything drift pleasantly away into static.

Several hours later, Techno wakes up to discover that the moonlight, which had been so pleasant the night before, is now sunlight, sharp and abrasive. He groans and covers his face as familiar stabbing sensations begin to assault his eyes. _Good morning indeed_. After a few more minutes, he realizes that he probably has some mild healing potions in stock, so he sits up, letting the blanket trail to the floor and--

Wait a minute. This is definitely not his house. For a moment, Techno looks around frantically, panic and anger seizing in his chest. _Kill them kill them who was it find them find them hurt them--_

It seems to be getting worse, these days. 

“Oh,” he says out loud, hearing the faint voices drift up from downstairs. “Phil.” There’s an odd mix of relief and apprehension in his gut as he starts towards the door, because Phil’s here, really _here_ , and yet Techno has no idea what to do, especially with two almost-strangers in the house. 

He pauses by the mirror and examines his reflection for a moment. Phil was right; his hair has been getting longer. When the two had traveled and fought together, Techno had kept his hair close-cropped and dyed it darker whenever the pink became really noticeable. Now, though, it hangs down over his forehead and nearly to his chin, the pale pink gleaming in the morning light. Techno scrunches his snout doubtfully at his reflection. It doesn’t look nearly intentional enough, Phil was right about that as well. It looks unkempt. 

And Techno isn’t so sure he likes the pink, anyway. 

With a sigh, his gaze tracks down to his wrinkled clothes, and he plucks at the blouse with a finger. Oh well He supposes it can’t be helped. With a sigh, he heads down the stairs, hooves clicking softly against the wood. 

Wilbur spots him first. “Hello Techno,” he says, his voice dubiously friendly. 

Techno stops by the doorway. “Hallo,” he responds, drawing out the syllables, as if it’ll make his hands stop shaking. 

Shaking. 

Why are they shaking?

The third person at the table whirls around, chair legs scraping against the floor. His hair is blond, although several shades darker than Phil’s and fluffs up into messy waves as he moves.

“You!” he yells. If Techno didn’t know any better, he’d say Tommy was angry with him, but there’s a spark of excitement in his eyes.

“Me,” agrees Techno calmly, still hovering in the doorway.

“You’re the blade!” says Tommy, his hands flailing around and nearly overturning a pitcher of milk, which Phil swiftly steadies.

“I’m the blade,” agrees Techno, slightly less calmly, because Phil hasn’t said anything.

Is Techno supposed to leave? To slip quietly out of the front door and leave Philza to this...new life? The bitterness that rises in his chest at the thought is unexpected. He shouldn’t need to care about this kind of thing, not with the fear and blood and collection of gleaming weapons.

“Hey,” says Phil with a familiar grin, featuring towards the empty seat on the left side. “I made pancakes. No blueberry left, though.” Tommy pointedly glances away.

Techno nods, and his throat feels tight. “I like chocolate better,” he says quietly, the words slightly strangled. Phil’s smile is just so _gentle_. 

“Sit,” says Phil.

Techno sits.


	2. now shall the living timber burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote it!! Even if you read it the first time, please do so again, it's got some more plot-important events that weren't in the last version, and is just generally written better!

Breakfast is a strange affair. Tommy is as loud and obnoxious as he’d been the night before, piling question after question on without giving Techno the chance to answer. It’s a little overwhelming, but Techno feels oddly comforted by the presence of Wilbur, who watches silently, his dark eyes flicking back and forth between the two.

Occasionally, he interjects when Tommy’s voice gets too loud and Techno winces, or when Tommy nearly knocks something off of the table. Techno’s counted two glasses and several forks so far. 

“Tommy, calm,” he says in his low, even tone, rescuing Phil’s empty plate from certain death as Tommy’s voice rises excitedly again. 

Phil, for his part, is entirely silent. Techno keeps his eyes trained on him for as long as possible without it being too noticeable. There’s an odd expression on Phil’s face; an odd sort of wistfulness, like he can’t decide whether to smile or not. It makes Techno feel uncomfortable.

Still, it’s not entirely unpleasant. And he’s almost thankful for Tommy’s relentless chatter. Social situations have never been Techno’s forte, so it’s at least convenient that Tommy is there to fill the silence. 

And the chatter itself isn’t entirely unpleasant, either. It might even be a little entertaining, even with the frankly appalling amount of times that Tommy uses the word “pog.”

So Techno sits there quietly, eating the good, albeit slightly cold pancakes, and watches. 

There’s a certain dynamic to them, he realizes pretty quickly. Wilbur isn’t as calming as he seemed initially, and his poorly concealed laughter serves only to egg Tommy on. 

It’s endearing in an odd sort of way, Techno thinks as he watches Tommy grin delightedly while Wilbur’s entire body shakes with suppressed laughter. Still, it’s not nearly enough to take his mind off of Phil, who’s still just...watching. 

Soon enough, they’re done eating, which means that Phil heads into the kitchen and Wilbur and Tommy clear the table and bicker about whether or not Tommy is too loud. Techno folds his hands in his lap and lets himself tune out, since it seems he’s not needed at the moment. 

_This makes no sense._

Techno almost thinks he prefers battle. You need to know your opponent for that, of course, but you don’t need to think about messier things, like if they actually want you to be staying with them, or if they have some sort of bigger agenda.

He sighs heavily and leans forward to prop his chin up on his hands, only to be jolted back to the present by the pressure of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Technoblade,” says Wilbur, his eyes flicking to the kitchen where Tommy is screaming abuse at the dishes and Phil is presumably monitoring him. 

“We need to talk.”

.

.

.

Now, Techno is all too aware of his reputation for being very, very difficult to kill. Ironically enough, this probably results in more attempts to kill him, but either way, he’s familiar enough with the concept. 

So as Wilbur leads him deeper and deeper into the cave systems underneath the house, Techno can’t help eye his back warily and tighten his grip on the handle of the sword slung at his side. Wilbur, at 6’5 is nearly a foot taller than Techno, but he’s also skinny and awkward and definitely far less experienced at pvp than Techno is. 

_I could take him._

“So why are we here, exactly?”

Wilbur hums, setting his lantern down and going over to inspect the far wall. “Getting more coal, of course. We’re running out,” he says, summoning a pickaxe and beginning to chip away at the stone. 

Techno shifts uncomfortably in place and doesn’t follow him, instead lingering by the entrance. “You don’t need me for that, though.”

A small smile tugs at Wilbur’s lips. “Tommy and Phil are cleaning up. You’re the only other option.” Techno doesn’t respond, just grabs a pickaxe of his own and gets to work. If Wilbur wants something from him, he’ll find out what it is soon enough. 

Wilbur hums as he works, Techno soon discovers. Strange, lilting little melodies that trail off into nothing before he starts on something else. Occasionally Techno catches words and faint little phrases, but for the most part, it’s just the humming. 

“Let me rephrase that,” says Techno after a few minutes. “Why am _I_ here?” Wilbur grins outright at that. 

“You’re a very interesting person, you know,” he says simply, tucking a little nugget of gold he’d found into one of his pockets. “He talks about you, sometimes.”

Techno blinks, slightly surprised. “Phil does?” Wilbur nods, tossing some more coal into the bucket. 

“Yep,” he says, popping the p. “We know some stuff about you, but he can be very vague.”

That’s...interesting. “What sorta stuff?” 

Wilbur takes a few seconds to respond, first dropping a few more pieces of coal into the bucket he’d brought down with him and dusting his pants off. “You’ve battled the best,” he says at last. “You’ve battled the best and won. But everyone knows that.” 

He pauses to think, and Techno lets him. “He tells us other things. You frown at stuff a lot, but he thinks you’re just squinting. That you need glasses.” He chuckles softly. “He might try and force a pair on you tomorrow. And you have a potato farm on a little world that nobody really visits. He says that you go there when it--” he waves a hand vaguely. “Gets too much, I guess. And he says you like books. That you’re good with words.”

Techno nods slowly, some unidentifiable emotion swirling in his chest. It’s strange to think there are people who know the little intimate parts of him, and stranger yet that Wilbur and Tommy are two of these people.

“I like words too,” offers Wilbur into the silence. “And stories. Tommy likes adventure stories and I like making them up so it’s okay. I make songs too, sometimes.”

Techno likes making stories, but he likes reading them more. “Songs?” he asks hesitantly, and Wilbur grins.

“Yep,” he affirms, turning to look at Techno fully. In the low torchlight, his brown curls glow red and the upper half of his face is almost completely hidden by shadow. “I’m writing one right now, actually.”

_Sing._

_Singer._

_Woe to thee, ye people of order._

_We like songs._

That piques Techno’s interest, at least. “Oh?”

“Yep.” Wilbur hums a few bars of another indistinguishable melody that Techno’s sure he’s heard somewhere before, then lapses into silence again. The two of them work like that for while, chipping quietly away at the stone before Wilbur says suddenly,

“You’re part Piglin, aren’t you Technoblade?”

“Yeah,” he responds, hands automatically reaching up to touch his own furred cheek, his ears. “Not sure how much though, so don’t bother askin’. I never found out.” 

“I had a book about different mobs when I was a kid,” continues Wilbur, and Techno doesn’t bother pointing out that he’s still technically a kid. He wants to see where Wilbur is going with this. 

“There was a page on Piglins, and a little section on Piglin-Hybrids.” He pauses wincing. “It’s a bit...outdated if you know what I mean.” Techno does. He can easily remember a time when the lingering gazes and muffled whispers had nothing at all to do with the ever-growing body count, and everything to do with the mask-like upper half of his face.

Wilbur nods when Techno says nothing and seems to take it as an invitation to continue. “Well, I found out some interesting facts. Did you know that Piglins can grow to almost six and a half feet?” 

“I didn’t,” says Techno, a tad flatly, because what’s the point of Wilbur dragging him down here for some convoluted conversation about Piglins? Wilbur nods again, more to himself than to Techno. 

“And you rarely find a hybrid less than six feet. People are still trying to find out about mobs and hybrids, but it’s a general consensus that Piglins and Piglin-Hybrids undergo a growth spurt in their late teenage years, usually over the course of just a few months.”

_What is he--?_

Oh. Techno slowly turns to face Wilbur. Wilbur who has his hands in his pockets and a mildly curious expression on his face, Wilbur who knows more than he should, Wilbur who’s almost a foot taller than Techno is and knows it. 

Techno exhales slowly through his teeth and Wilbur’s eyes flash like he’s won something, which he really has. Ender almighty, what’s with this kid?

“So how old are you, Technoblade?” Techno forces himself not to curl inward defensively. “Dunno,” he mutters. “15 or 16, I’d guess.”

Wilbur nods, contemplating this information, and Techno’s hand drifts down to the hilt of his sword. “You can’t tell anyone,” he says firmly, and Wilbur’s eyes track down to the hilt as well. He nods slowly, and then, to Techno’s acute confusion, his face splits into an easy grin. 

“That makes us twins, you know,” he says, picking up the torch he’d stuck in the ground an hour or so ago. “You’re like my twin. Technotwin!”

_What the fuck._

“I’ll be older than you though,” he says decisively, and Techno can’t help but let out a little snicker, because the past two days have been so _fucking_ weird.

“And why’s that?”

“I’m taller than you, obviously,” says Wilbur, sticking his chin out. “So that makes me older.” Techno’s expression must shift, because he adds hastily, “but only by two minutes. It’s very close really.”

Techno narrows his eyes. “I could get taller than you though,” he says, and Wilbur just snorts. “Better get that growth spurt on, then,” he shoots back, and Techno has to cover his mouth to keep the laugh in. 

He’s not stupid, of course. He knows the power balance between them has shifted, now that Wilbur has uncovered the precious little gem of information. Techno wonders what’ll happen when the people find out the Blood God is far younger and more vulnerable than they could have ever imagined?

_Not vulnerable, never vulnerable, blood and death and glory._

_Glory._

_Blood._

A lot more assassination attempts, probably. 

Still. It’s okay if he has to pretend a little bit, to smile at another of Wilbur’s jokes even as his chest begins to tighten and his mind begins to whirl, planning, planning, planning. 

It’ll be fine. He knows Wilbur’s weaknesses anyway. There’s one (two?) living with them. 

.

.

.

Later, the restlessness gets to Techno. Wilbur is fussing around with his guitar up in his bedroom, and Phil is busying about in the kitchen, and Tommy is asleep upstairs, which leaves Techno alone in the front room with his thoughts. 

He doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. Lately, it feels like there are dozens of tiny voices in his head, nagging and pulling and insisting for a thousand different things. Frankly, it’s exhausting and a little concerning. Hearing stress-induced voices probably isn’t a good thing. 

Oddly enough, they seem to have quieted down a bit since his arrival at this sleepy little house, but now that he’s alone again, it’s unavoidable. 

He purses his lips and leans over a bit, trying to concentrate on the rip he’s mending. 

_Do we trust them?_

_Can’t trust anyone._

_Hungry._

_I like that one with the dark eyes._

_Hate them, hate them all._

A tiny knot, then another stitch. 

_Technobladeeeee._

_This is boring._

_Lame._

_L._

_Lame._

“Shut up,” he mutters, snipping the thread neatly with sharp teeth. He’s not very good at sewing, and the incessant chatter isn’t helping.

_Oooh, scary._

_L._

_Miss Phil._

_He’s right here, silly._

_Not really._

_Stop sitting around._

_Miss Phil._

He hisses with frustration as the needle slips and pierces his thumb, a bead of scarlet welling up, and he’s trying to ignore the voices screeching excitedly for blood and find something to mop it up with when the door opens.

Snow gusts into the room for several seconds as Techno and Tommy stare at each other, wearing nearly identical expressions of surprise. Then, Tommy quickly shuts the door behind him and his expression shifts into something more pleading as he glances back and forth between Techno and the kitchen. 

“What are you doin’?” whispers Techno. “Phil said you were asleep.” Tommy’s holding something to his chest underneath his shirt, Techno realizes, and his grip tightens on it protectively.

“What’re you gonna do about it, big man?” his tone is about as challenging as whispers can get, but there’s an underlying current of something else-- anxiety maybe, that stops Techno from calling Phil. 

Techno’s gaze flicks to the stairs, then back to Tommy’s face. He looks tired and out of breath, a smudge of soot across one cheek. Techno wonders what he’s holding.

After several seconds, Techno nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and Tommy goes without another word, socked feet silent against the wood.

Huh.

_We like him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonder what Tommy could be holding...


	3. quick update!

hi! just wanted to give a short update on the status of this story

so yeah, i know i haven't updated it in a bit (school :/) but i'm definitely gonna continue this and try and write more in my free time!! unfortunately i keep getting new ideas and wanting to go back and edit stuff (for example i wanna change the tone of the first chapter a bit and fix the pacing) so that's probably gonna slow me down a little bit ajdksnk

but to everyone that commented, big thank you!! those comments i've been getting in the past week or so are really fueling me so!! you know who you are!! thank you!!


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